Non-Papal Bull

Jun. 1st, 2017

Jun. 1st, 2017

The night before last my son stood me up for dinner. He has an excuse for not calling or texting me: he lost his phone over the weekend, if you'll recall. I also knew he'd been doing something important earlier that day, namely helping my ex get her hoarder stepmother's condo ready to vacate.

Ex had earlier asked me to help out with that chore, too, and I grouchily agreed, in the name of good relations with Ex. Besides, this wouldn't be happening if her dad were still alive, and he was a decent guy who certainly would have wanted me to help out. However, Exstepmother is getting evicted and apparently there isn't much time to get her moved. That means emptying out her place on weekdays, which conveniently makes it hard to get my help. I haven't offered more help, and Ex hasn't asked for it.

That's for the best on many levels: it isn't right that other people should have to pay a price for her long-standing shopping addiction (which is one reason her money situation is so bad), hoarding, and generally weak grasp of reality (another reason). And she's such a motormouth that I've seen her own kids call her on it. I've been holding my tongue in front of her for decades because of Ex and her father, and I'd really rather not have to do that again now that there's less incentive.

Ex is, unfortunately, the geographically nearest relative by several hundred miles. I know she's not exactly a fan of her stepmother, either and, if you'll recall, she's got rheumatoid arthritis. I'm hoping she gets though this with a minimum of pain and botheration.Trying a new queer women's dating app called Her. Action seems to be prompt. I'll keep you posted, natch.